


Dear Scott

by writingonpostcards



Series: Dear You [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 13:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3652494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingonpostcards/pseuds/writingonpostcards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Dear Scott,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I wanted to write this letter to you because I need to tell you something.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Scott

Dear Scott,

~~Before you read this, or I suppose you’re reading it now~~

~~Please don’t hate me for~~

I wanted to write this letter to you because I need to tell you something. We’ve been friends now for the entirety of my remembered life. You mean a lot to me and I 

I don’t know where to start even though this is probably the twentieth time I’ve tried to write this. So this time I’m going to make myself write and not stop until I get to the end. It might be messy but you know how to decode me. It’s one of the ~~many~~ things I love about you.

I suppose I’ll start with where it started for me. Or for us.

It was in the sandpit in the park that used to be on the corner of Oak and Pointing. Do you remember? Of course you do. You were there. You still tease me about it all the time, about how I was so pathetic at making sandcastles. I told you I liked your stripy t-shirt to distract you and then stomped all over your perfect sandcastle. I’m laughing now remembering it. Like I always do. I can picture you laughing too.

I’m good at picturing you when you’re not here.

I’m sorry. This is already getting away from me.

That was the beginning of our friendship and our relationship is something that I treasure above almost anything else in my life.

This letter is about a different beginning. It’s about me. And you of course. ~~Most things in my life are about you.~~

So many things in my life are about you. So much of my life entwined with yours.

Do you remember that night in my jeep when we drove out to the beach? It was two weeks after I turned 17 and one week before the anniversary of my mother’s death. We sat in the car and you put on the mixtape you’d made me for my birthday and just as the sun dipped below the horizon you turned to me and smiled and put your hand on my shoulder.

And that was when I knew.

I didn’t just love you.

I was in love with you.

That’s why I’m writing this letter. To let you know that I am in love with you Scott. It’s almost graduation and I can’t not tell you, can’t leave for college and not see you every day, can’t be stuck with

 ~~Sorry. I’m getting~~ Sorry.

I can’t remember exactly what happened after that, but I remember stillness and being struck into silence by my revelation. I don’t remember breathing. I don’t remember moving. I don’t know what emotions might have been showing on my face. How raw they probably were at that moment.

You smiled at me like I must have been smiling at you too. I think it’s ingrained in me to smile when I look at you.

I can remember the warmth of your hand on my shoulder, but I always feel warm around you, so maybe I’m making that up.

But the stillness I remember.

Things hurt less with you Scott.

But they hurt more too.

You were with Allison. Still are. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m even writing this, I’m not trying to break you two up. I just don’t think I can handle having to keep this secret anymore. I feel like I’m hiding a part of myself and you shouldn’t hide things ~~from the people you love~~ from your best friend.

You ~~were~~ are with Allison and I hate that I tried to hate her. I’m sorry for that Scott, but it’s the truth. I think you could tell that I didn’t like her, at least at first. ~~I was just so caught up in realising that I love you and~~ And I hate that I couldn’t hate her because you two were perfect together. And I am so far gone on you Scott that I just

I didn’t care that it wasn’t with me. That you were happiest with Allison. Sweet, kind, beautiful, caring Allison.

Except ~~you know what hurt?~~ you were. You were happy with me Scott. So fucking happy.

And so was I.

I don’t think I ever laughed so hard as the time when we were 14 and you thought it would be a good idea to stack all of my books in a towering pile that inevitably toppled and squished us both to the floor.

Or when we were both gangly 15 year olds alone together at the school dance and you made us do the Macarena to some slow song meant for couples.

Or just a few months ago when I was having one of my sad days and you showed up at my house without me asking you to and just made everything better.

But we’re just friends.

And I am honestly grateful for that and for you, ~~but~~

Do you know what it’s like to be scared of your own dreams Scott? Not nightmares, dreams. 

I had this ritual for 5 months, those first 5 after our trip to the beach, where every night I would lie in bed and think “just friends just friends just friends” and then every night (every night Scott) it didn’t matter because I would fall asleep and there you would be.

I couldn’t escape the thought of you no matter how hard I tried ~~and to go from seeing you as a friend to seeing you as that one person~~ The shift was so sudden ~~and~~ ~~and~~ and all consuming. I was frightened by my own feelings. ~~I still am sometimes.~~ How can someone feel that? Frightened of themselves? Their own emotions? Just one perfect night, one shift in perspective and suddenly I was being overwhelmed with you.

Every look you gave me was that much heavier. Every touch something to be remembered. Every date you had with Allison something to make my gut heave. Every dream of you something to look forward to, something to clutch to my chest and press up right against my heart and swallow down so it became part of me.

My favourites were the ones where we were in my room, lying face to face on the bed, and you’d reach out your hand and place it on my shoulder, then follow the line of my neck up to rest it against my cheek. And that warmth that I always feel around you? I can feel it in my dreams. And your palm would press against my cheek and you’d smile at me and I’d smile at you and then you’d lean in and just press your lips against mine and we’d stay there, lips and hands pressing gently against one another, until I woke up.

My least favourites were the ones in your room. I don’t know why it was always your room, but it was. We’d stumble through your door, hands furiously working over bodies, fingers furiously unbuttoning shirts and undoing zips and

Sorry.

Sorry Scott. ~~I don’t want to scare you.~~

I feel things better with you.

When we were younger, we used to joke about growing old together.

Funny how it’s not a joke to me anymore.

Except that’s not funny. I’m sorry, don’t laugh at that.

We probably imagine it differently now. You’re probably married to Allison in your head, surrounded by adorable children in some nice, comfy house. Maybe I’m the fun uncle.

In my dreams and my daydreams (it’s hard not to think about you constantly Scott) it’s different. 

We’re together. Sometimes we’re in Beacon Hills living in a small house near my dad. Sometimes it’s a cramped apartment in a big city somewhere. Sometimes it’s just a few years forward, college together in each other’s dorm rooms. Sometimes we’re in our 30s, settled down together. Sometimes there are kids, sometimes there aren’t. There’s always a dog though. And there is always you. You and me. Scott and Stiles.

And you always rest your hand on my shoulder like that time in my jeep. And you always move it up to my cheek. And I always lean in to feel more of the warmth that seems to live under your skin. And you always lean in to kiss me.

And you never tell me you love me.

I don’t know why I can’t think of those 3 ~~little~~ ~~big~~ words coming out of your mouth. Because you do tell me you love me. But it’s different when followed by “dude” or “man” or “brother”.

Maybe I just don’t want to force you to love me the same way I love you. Even just in my imagination.

I think that would make me feel guilty.

I don’t mean for this to change anything about us, even though I fear it will. I don’t know how it couldn’t. What if you don’t want to see me again? What if you can’t talk to me anymore? Or look me in the eye? What if you love me back? What if you don’t? What if

It’s stupid how I’m drowning in this.

I’m sorry if this letter has made you feel guilty.

Sorry for apologising so much Scott.

~~I just don’t know how else to~~

So now you know. 

~~I hope that you can~~

~~I don’t know how~~

Take your time, please, to think about everything. Please. I don’t want to force you into anything. I’ll follow your lead Scott. Whatever you want to do now that you know how I feel.

 ~~I love you.~~ ~~I’m sorry.~~

Stiles


End file.
